


out of line and into

by gravitycentered



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Cisswap, Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, First Time, Gender or Sex Swap, Light Dom/sub, Oral Sex, girl!Harry, girl!Zayn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-17 23:11:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3547277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gravitycentered/pseuds/gravitycentered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m a bit shocked you never caught on back then.” </p><p>“Caught on to what?” Zayn asks. </p><p>Harry freezes abruptly and turns to give her an incredulous look. “That I fancied you? A lot?” </p><p>Suddenly forced to search through her mental index of every moment they’ve spent together before now, it takes a moment before Zayn can respond: “What?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	out of line and into

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stuckinabottle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stuckinabottle/gifts).



> As a fellow sucker for cisswap, I really hope you enjoy this! I had a super hard time choosing between your prompts because they were all wonderful, but this one truly spoke to me. I hope you enjoy it :) 
> 
> Thanks to E and M for the beta-reads!
> 
> \- 
> 
> check out some AMAZING fan art by the incredible razz [here](http://zaptains.tumblr.com/post/120766042161/the-lord-has-truly-blessed-me-on-this-day-bc-the)!

In all honesty, Zayn’s feeling quite sorry for herself. She’s sat alone on a park bench with her earphones in, drowning in the most sleepy, sad playlist she’s got, pissing away one of the few days of sunshine the city’s gotten in the past few weeks. Perrie’s contact card is pulled up on her phone. Every once in a while the screen will go dim after long minutes of her indecisiveness, before she angrily taps it with her thumb to get its attention again. 

Zayn stares at the number. Though they’ve gone through this before, it feels more final this time; she’s never gotten to this stage, the “delete her number” stage. It’s been weeks, and she’s heard nothing, nor sent anything herself. A long, mournful guitar solo wails on in her eardrums as the screen dims again, but this time she lets it go all the way to black. Despite knowing she’s not getting back with Perrie, it almost seems cruel to cut all ties entirely. Still, they probably won’t be able to manage the whole _we’ll stay friends_ schtick - to them, being _friends_ means they think they can hang out together alone, fuck one last time, and cry the next morning while they promise to be better to each other from now on. 

At least, that’s what’s happened the last two times Zayn refused to delete her number after they broke up. 

Just as Zayn unlocks her phone and places her thumb directly over the _Delete Contact_ button, a tentative tap on her shoulder causes her to jerk away, snapping her head around to face whoever’s touched her. A girl is standing behind her, looking amused, her disheveled hair whipping about in the wind. 

“Hi,” she says, after Zayn pulls her earphones out, music still playing on to no one. 

“Harry?” Zayn asks, as if she doesn’t already know. Harry smiles a little bigger, and Zayn hops up from the bench, hurrying over to wrap her arms around Harry’s shoulders, earphones dangling behind her. 

“Glad I can still recognize the back of your head,” Harry says, squeezing tight and firm around Zayn’s waist. 

“Oh my god,” Zayn laughs, bracing her hands on Harry’s shoulders as she pulls back. “You’ve gotten unfairly tall.” 

“I’m cheating a bit,” Harry admits, lifting her foot off the ground to show off her shoe. The boot has a sizable heel. 

“Still,” Zayn says. She looks over Harry’s face, longer and leaner and tanner than she saw it last, cheeks and nose red from the wind that’s beginning to get chilly this late in the fall. It’s lovely to see her again.

“Are you by yourself?” Harry asks, still smiling. 

Annoyingly, Zayn’s stomach twists. “I am,” she confirms, “just…having a bit of a think, like. Are you just visiting, or?” 

“I’ve moved back, actually.” Harry grabs Zayn’s earphone cord by the middle and pulls them up, keeping the buds from dragging the ground. 

“Are you serious? Moved back, like— here?” Zayn busies herself wrapping the cord around her phone and shoves the whole thing into her pocket, not bothering with it any longer. 

“Just like, a block away actually. I’m exploring my new neighborhood,” Harry grins. “All my stuff got here this past weekend, I’m still unpacking boxes, even.” 

“Wait,” Zayn says, “so, is this permanent?” 

“Well, we’ll say ‘until further notice’, but yeah. Basically permanent,” Harry says. 

It comes as a bit of a shock. Zayn wants to ask why, what changed, but what comes out is, “You know you live closer to my university than I do, now?” 

“Yep,” Harry says. 

“And there’s a good chance I’ll basically invite myself to live at yours during the week so I don’t have to take drive in?” 

“You can come pick out your room right now if you like,” Harry says, taking a step back and nodding toward the street she must live down. 

Before she can think up an excuse to head home and burrow back into bed, Zayn says, “Lead the way, then.” 

 

-

 

There’s really no room for her to choose from. Harry’s flat is a bedroom, a toilet and a living area that’s separated from the kitchen only by a small island countertop. Despite having just moved, things seem tidy and slightly lived-in, dishes in the sink and a blanket pooled at one end of the sofa as though Harry’d been napping there earlier. 

“I think I’ll take your bed,” Zayn jokes, sitting at the empty end of the sofa. “You can sleep there while I’m at lectures instead, yeah?” 

“I’m sure we’ll both fit,” Harry grins. She grabs a pair of beers out of her refrigerator and crosses the room in a few strides, holding one out. Zayn smiles back as she takes it; they did their fair share of sleeping in the same bed as girls, squeezing into their narrow childhood mattresses and spooning up behind each other. 

Harry sits right next to her on the sofa, close enough that their elbows touch when Zayn moves to open her bottle. Playfully accusing, Zayn says, “Can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were moving back.” 

“You were the first person I tried to tell,” Harry insists. She crosses her legs and nudges Zayn’s calf with her booted toe, smiling when Zayn makes eye contact. “You never answered. I posted about it loads on Facebook, as well.” 

“Like I’d ever see that,” Zayn says. “Maybe you’ve got my old number, still? I’d answer if you called. Probably.” 

“ _Probably,_ ” Harry repeats loudly, taking a long gulp of her beer like she has to drink the sting of rejection away. Zayn tries to keep herself from laughing. 

“Give me your phone,” she says, holding her hand out. Harry tips closer to her until their shoulders bump, digging into the pocket of her skirt for her phone before placing it into Zayn’s hand. 

Zayn deletes the old number from her contact card and types in the new one, adding in her email address as well, just in case. There’s no photo for her, so she taps until she gets to the camera and watches herself in the screen, pulling a silly face with her eyes wide and tongue half out. When she’s taken the photo and set it as her contact picture, she turns the phone back to Harry. 

“What d’you think? Flattering angle for me?” 

Harry hardly glances at the screen. “You look lovely,” she says, eyes sliding slowly back and forth between Zayn’s. 

That look - the focused, overwhelming stare that Harry’s used countless times - is something that Zayn’s grown unaccustomed to. They’ve video chatted a handful of times but an expression so intent can’t really be conveyed through pixelated video. It’s almost off-putting, but the process of looking back gives her a chance to take in Harry’s face again, the gentle slope of her brows and wide black pupils in her dark flat. 

“Missed you,” Zayn says, filterless. “I’m glad you’re here.” 

“I’m glad, too,” Harry replies.

 

-

 

They’ve finished the 6-pack from Harry’s fridge and moved to her bed, shoes discarded on the carpet and toes tucked under her blankets, before Harry says, “I guess it just… wasn’t worth it, anymore.” 

Zayn hums, waiting. She’s been dying to ask but hasn’t spoken up about it, instead letting Harry tell her slow, meandering stories about the flight in and her short walk around the city before she ran into Zayn. Until now, she’s offered up no explanation as to why she left America after years of loving it.

“Well _really_ I couldn’t afford it anymore,” Harry amends. “After I dropped out - which was a terrible idea, by the way - I had to find a flat in LA, since I couldn’t live in the dorms. It’s bloody expensive out there, though, and there’s loads of people all trying to get the same gigs as you, it’s impossible. And, like. Disheartening. I wasn’t getting anything done and I ran out of money even when I was working.” 

“Fuck LA,” Zayn says mildly, wrapping her hand around Harry’s wrist. When Harry spreads her fingers and wiggles them like she wants to hold hands instead, Zayn complies and links all of their fingers together. “It’s all social media now, anyway. Make, like, a YouTube channel. Can do all that from home.” 

“I should. D’you know I can play guitar now? Like, almost properly,” Harry says. 

Zayn grins and taps her fingertips against Harry’s knuckles. “That’s what you said at 14, as well. I’ve still got that CD you gave me of you playing that same one chord for every song.” 

“I was _learning_ ,” Harry says vehemently, leaning away from Zayn to give her a wounded look, even as her thumb sweeps in a broad arch along the side of Zayn’s hand. 

“It was quite a romantic gesture,” Zayn insists. She pulls Harry back in closer with her free hand on the inside of Harry’s elbow, fingers curling around her forearm when they’re settled back together. 

Perking right back up, Harry extracts her hand from Zayn’s and says, “Speaking of! How’s Perrie been? I’d forgotten to ask after her.” 

“Uh,” Zayn says, placing both empty hands into her lap before laughing uncomfortably. “I haven’t spoken to her in a bit. I think we’re proper done now.” 

“Oh, god,” Harry says, enough regret in her voice to be palpable. “I wouldn’t have asked if I’d known.” 

“I know, you’re alright,” Zayn sighs. “It’s been, like, two weeks? I dunno how to even explain it, like. I know it’s better for us both, I’m not sad about it so much as I am frustrated.” 

Harry’s knee knocks into hers under the blanket as she changes position, and Zayn can feel her eyes on the side of her face. “Frustrated how?” 

“Dunno. That we can’t be friends? We’re not good at it, really, are we? It’s like over our heads all the time what we _could_ have and we can’t focus on what we _do_ have.” 

“I’m sorry,” Harry says. She leans in and briefly presses her forehead against Zayn’s shoulder, sending strands of her hair down to tickle Zayn’s arm. 

“I know,” Zayn repeats, squeezing the back of Harry’s neck before she moves away. “I think m’alright. I did forget all about my woes for a while after seeing your pretty face again.” 

“Stop,” Harry says, smiling despite herself, the sweet dimple in her cheek more pronounced. 

“America was good to you,” Zayn shrugs, “not my fault.” 

“And you said I was the one with the romantic gestures.” 

“That CD _was_ really, ridiculously romantic, Haz. It was almost all a bunch of soppy love songs.” 

“I _know_ ,” Harry laughs, burying her face in her hands. She resurfaces after a moment and shakes her head, pushing her hair out of her face. “I’m a bit shocked you never caught on back then.” 

“Caught on to what?” Zayn asks. 

Harry freezes abruptly and turns to give her an incredulous look. “That I fancied you? A lot?” 

Suddenly forced to search through her mental index of every moment they’ve spent together before now, it takes a moment before Zayn can respond: “What?” 

“I almost kissed you that time!” Harry exclaims. 

For all the time _she’s_ looked at _Harry’s_ mouth and considered it, Zayn can’t remember which time this might’ve been. “When?” she demands. 

“That day we went out to my step-dad’s bungalow when no one else was home?” Harry says, almost accusingly, as if it’s blatant enough that she can’t believe Zayn forgot. 

“You did swim topless that day,” Zayn remembers. 

“And it wasn’t because it was ‘too hot’ for a bikini,” Harry says. Her cheeks are noticeably flushed. 

“Oh my god,” Zayn says, and can’t help but laugh at herself. Harry had insisted on getting Zayn into the deep end of the pool that day, and ended up carrying Zayn herself; that memory of her legs around Harry’s waist under the water and Harry’s bare, hard nipples brushing up against Zayn’s ribs had been her go-to wank material for months. “Why _didn’t_ you kiss me, then?” 

“Thought better of it,” Harry sighs. “I also thought you were straight.” 

Zayn laughs again, but this time it comes out more as a hiccuped giggle. “I thought _you_ were straight.” 

Harry makes a defeated noise that becomes a groan, and Zayn laughs harder. “So this whole time, I could’ve gotten away with it? Really?” 

“Really,” Zayn says, tucking her hair behind her ears and feeling vaguely hysterical. “Could’ve pulled my top off for me, actually, and I probably would’ve let you get away with it, too.” 

“You can’t say things like that,” Harry says. 

“You’re going quite red,” Zayn teases, reaching out to place the back of her hand against Harry’s cheek to feel the warmth there. 

“I’ve been caught off guard,” Harry says. She leans into Zayn’s hand, though, not hesitant to look back at her even when embarrassed. “We could’ve been having even more fun all those years.” 

“We still had fun,” Zayn insists. 

“Mm,” Harry hums, turning Zayn’s hand to fit her warm cheek in the center of Zayn’s palm, “naughtier fun.” 

Harry’s voice lilts like she’s joking, but her flush doesn’t fade. 

“Some might call your swimming around topless a bit naughty,” Zayn says. 

“That was completely platonic,” Harry insists, “a girl’s night in, very innocent.” 

“Well, honestly I’m a bit glad you didn’t have to experience my, like, fumbling first times. I wasn’t very good at all that yet,” Zayn laughs. 

Harry stretches and slumps until half her back is against her sagging mattress, only her shoulders still against the headboard. “I dunno. I don’t think you would’ve needed to do much, really. Just lie back and relax.” 

She’s smirking when Zayn looks her over, dimple elongated into a line, like a dark shadow on her cheek in the dying afternoon light. 

“Just lie back, huh?” Zayn asks. Harry shrugs one shoulder at her and Zayn goes on, to see if she’ll react, “Let you have your way with me, that what you wanted?” 

It takes her a beat longer to respond. “Might’ve been,” she says, looking up at Zayn steadily. 

“I’m a bit more proactive than all that,” Zayn says. She’s not flirted around like this in ages, and the excitement’s burning off any anxiety underneath. “Rather have somebody laid out under me, yeah?” 

Zayn doesn’t miss the way that Harry’s breath leaves her in a quiet rush, chest contracting under her top, the buttons undone far enough to tease a bit of cleavage. Belatedly, she realizes Harry can track her eyes, see just where she’s looking, and feels her own cheeks flush. 

“ _Well_ ,” Harry says, recovered and emphatic, but stops there; she slips all the way down her bed until her head’s situated on a pillow, arms raised above her head in a purposeful stretch. She grins up at Zayn again, having essentially laid herself out, joking in a way that’s not so much a joke as it is a question. 

Taking the bait in her own way, Zayn says, “Learned that about myself not too long ago, to be honest.” 

“What’s that?” Harry asks. “That you like being on top?” 

Zayn hums, searching for a term that’s blatant but not explicit. “That I like… being listened to.” 

Harry makes a considering face. “How’d you find that out?” 

“Last year, last time me and— I wasn’t with anybody, went out and pulled this girl. She just wanted to be told what to do.” It’s not quite as simple as that, but Zayn’s not sure where this is going. She lets Harry imagine it on her own, keeping the real experience out of the fantasy, remembering what it felt like to have near complete control over someone else for the first time. 

“You done it much since?” Harry asks. Intentionally or not, the question underneath is clear; _You done it with Perrie?_

“Nah,” Zayn says. 

There’s a silence that follows that where Harry looks away, perhaps for the first time all day, and it borders on uncomfortable. Zayn still watches her, accepting the reversal of their roles, starer and staree, until Harry finally speaks again. 

“You know,” she says, like she’s starting up a new topic of conversation, “you’ve told me more than once, I think, that I’m quite a good listener.” She looks back at Zayn after a handful of seconds, smirking again, another joke that’s not a joke. 

Zayn looks back at her, and loses track of how many moments go by, Harry’s smirk disappearing gradually the longer she’s quiet. Eventually, she says to Harry, “Your top is sick, babe.” 

Whatever remained of Harry’s playful smile is wiped away and immediately replaced with a more placid, friendly one, transitioning seamlessly into a different mood; it’s fascinating. She lifts her head to look down her body, placing a hand on her belly to smooth the fabric down. It’s a bold floral, bright oranges and reds against a black background, slightly sheer. 

“Secondhand,” Harry says. “Got it quite cheap.” 

Fingering the edge of her sleeve, Zayn says, “Oughta undo another of them buttons, though.” 

Harry glances back at her again, mildly bemused, and teases, “Think that’ll complete the look?” 

“Might,” Zayn allows. When Harry obediently pops open the next button on her top, the cups of her bra just barely peek on either side. 

“I’ve worn it this low before, actually,” Harry says. “In the summer.” 

“Have you?” Zayn asks. Before Harry can respond, she says, “Another, then.” 

“I’m bordering on public indecency as it is,” Harry says. Still, she listens, letting her shirt fall open a bit more, wider strips of her bra coming into view. 

Her hands are still in place, having just freed the last button from its hole when Zayn tells her, “Another.” She can see the moment it clicks in Harry’s head, when she understands what Zayn’s doing; her fingers still and her eyes go a bit wide, blinking up at Zayn, half surprised. Slowly, she undoes a third button, down so far now that her shirt’s opening up at her ribs, swaths of skin beneath the band of her bra on display. 

“Another.” 

It’s the last button she can undo before she hits her skirt, where the rest of her top is tucked in. Zayn pinches an edge of fabric and tugs it gently, just enough to expose more of Harry’s chest, to get a good look at her bra. It’s black, thin and flimsy, more of an accessory than a necessity, and Zayn can already see the rounded tips of Harry’s nipples jutting up against the fabric. 

“Why don’t we move this blanket, then? See what else we’re working with,” Zayn murmurs, speaking like she’s just interested in Harry’s outfit, wants to see the whole picture at once. 

Harry exhales unsteadily and uses both her hands and her feet to push the blanket away, baring her legs. Goosebumps immediately work their way up her naked skin, not used to the chill after being part of their shared warmth underneath the covers. Her skirt is wrinkled and askew from shuffling around, ending just above her knees. 

“This is a bit long, isn’t it?” Zayn asks. Harry’s feet twist together at the end of the bed. 

“Yeah,” she says, soft. 

“Lift it up higher.” 

“Yeah,” Harry repeats, nearly in a whisper. Her thighs are long and smooth, tanned from the American sun; she works her skirt up until it’s bunched at her hips, barely covering anything. 

“Good,” Zayn says. “Liking this look better.” 

When Zayn drags her knuckles up the outside of Harry’s thigh, her leg jerks like she’s been shocked, taken off guard. She squeezes her knees together and Zayn looks along the length of her body, lingering on the sweet pink flush that’s settled over her chest. 

Heart pounding fiercely, Zayn asks, “Your knickers match this lovely bra?” 

Harry responds only by shaking her head, fingers curled into the bulk of her skirt, holding it at her hips while Zayn slides her hand around, squeezing Harry’s thigh. 

“Show me,” Zayn says. 

The sound Harry makes is a soft whine, quiet enough that it’s barely more than all the other exhales before and after it, but just loud enough to hear. It makes Zayn shiver a bit, so similar to the last girl she did this with, who was full of fragments of sound she couldn’t keep inside. Harry slowly hikes her skirt up even higher, all the way, until the length of it is higher than the waistband; her knickers are a worn, dusty blue, the elastic digging into the flesh of her hips, creating a gentle dip in the slope of her skin. 

“Certainly don’t match, do they?” Zayn asks, reaching up to trace a fingertip along the band. 

“No,” Harry murmurs. Her fingers flex around her skirt where she’s still gripping tightly, letting Zayn look. 

“Thinking you oughta get rid of them,” Zayn tells her. She watches Harry squeeze her thighs together again, hips twisting slightly like she’s got something to push against. “Clash with the rest of it, don’t they?” 

“Please take them off,” Harry whispers, growing more flushed the longer she’s teased, her cheeks fully red now. 

“Nah, babe. You take ‘em off for me.” 

Without hesitation, Harry lifts her hips off the mattress just enough to roll her knickers down, pushing them away with her feet. She keeps her thighs together when she resettles, unexpectedly modest, fluttering her hands around her hips like she’s unsure of where to put them before twisting her fingers back into the fabric of her skirt. Zayn smoothes down the hair between Harry’s legs, obviously trimmed but grown out to be nearly unruly again. She’s careful not to touch any lower, even when Harry lets out her first proper moan and pushes up into the pressure. 

Zayn rises up onto her knees and crawls lower on the bed, pausing to stroke along Harry’s shin. She taps Harry’s kneecap, looking up to catch her eyes; she looks conflicted, like she’s frantic with the need to be touched but ready to wait for it still. 

“Let me see,” Zayn says, watching Harry for as long as she’ll watch back. Almost right away, though, Harry closes her eyes like she’s overwhelmed. Slowly, she tips her head back and parts her thighs, bringing her knees up until they’re pointed at the ceiling, feet flat on the bed. 

Her cunt is a deep pink, dark with arousal, glistening wet in the meager lighting of Harry’s bedroom. “Look at you,” Zayn mumbles, settling between her legs. “All this and I haven’t even touched you, yet.” 

Harry whimpers so nicely that Zayn feels herself clench down, wanting something to touch her, too; she’s just as soaked, slick against her knickers, and it’s difficult to ignore. Still, she doesn’t want to go any faster, invested in the quick beat of Harry’s panting, wanting to keep her tense. There’s a second where Zayn’s body almost takes over, _almost_ swipes her thumb through the wetness Harry’s making, but she stops herself. Instead, she slides both hands up the insides of Harry’s thighs until she’s as high as she can go, bracing her palms there before using her thumbs to spread Harry’s cunt for a better look. 

“Zayn, please,” Harry whines, digging her nails into her own hips. Zayn watches her fingers, sees her leaving indents in her skin. 

“Please what, love?” 

Unsurprisingly, Harry says, “Will you touch me?” She drags her nails against her skin, perhaps accidentally, leaving eight tiny pink lines in their place. Zayn rubs up to those spots, brushing her thumbs against the marks. 

“Put your hands back over your head for me?” Zayn asks, bending down to press a kiss just above Harry’s thatch of pubic hair. She gasps, stretching both arms above her head until her knuckles bump into the headboard. 

“Please,” Harry says again, squirming as her skirt starts to slip down without her hands there to hold it up. “Fuck, m’so wet.” 

“I can see it,” Zayn tells her. 

She leans in close and blows a light stream of air against Harry’s clit, watching her muscles clench when she feels it. The sound she makes is close to a whimper, subdued like she knows she’s being teased and is settling in for as long as it’ll take. Zayn holds her cunt open again, watching her face, and is underwhelmed when all Harry does is chew at her lip, eyes closed and brows furrowed. Wanting to keep her unprepared, Zayn ducks in without warning and gives Harry’s clit a slow lick, trying to keep her eyes on Harry’s face as she does. 

It’s hard to keep focused with how suddenly Harry’s hips jerk towards her tongue, but Zayn manages to catch sight of her mouth parting and eyes snapping open all at once. Her groan sounds relieved; she reaches down far enough to pet Zayn’s hair before remembering what she was asked, bringing her hands back up to grab onto the pillow beneath her head after. 

“Good girl,” Zayn says, giving her a second lick and humming when Harry keens, thighs closing around her shoulders. It’s overwhelming just how wet she is when Zayn licks lower, covering more of Harry’s cunt with her tongue. She has to swallow after one full lick, the slickness already making a mess between Harry’s legs; Zayn draws in the taste of her, getting used to it. Her chin’ll be soaked in a moment, she knows, but Harry’s practically gagging for it, pushing down against Zayn’s face, so she keeps close and sucks Harry’s clit into her mouth. 

“Yes, yes,” Harry’s whispering, voice thin. Her body language is demanding, working her hips to the exact rhythm she wants to be sucked, even while her arms are still obediently held above her head. 

Zayn pushes Harry’s skirt back up higher and squeezes her hips, pulling back enough to ask, “This the kinda thing you thought about back then?” 

“ _Yes_ ,” Harry repeats, so quickly Zayn thinks she may be responding without listening. She continues though, haltingly, “And— and making you come.” 

“Yeah?” Zayn asks, giving her another slow lick, like a reward for answering. After Harry’s quick moan tapers off, Zayn pushes for more, “How’d you get me off?” 

“Ate you out,” Harry says, breathless. Zayn licks her again and Harry whimpers, squirming under the touch. 

“Gonna eat me out today?” 

“ _Please_ ,” Harry whines, propping herself up on an elbow to speak directly down at Zayn, “please, fuck, can I?” 

Harry’s beyond disheveled, looking plain debauched; her hair is wild now, her flushed chest heaving with every breath, one of her nipples almost out of the cup of her bra from her shifting about. Zayn keeps her eyes on Harry with her next lick, sliding her tongue firm and slow across Harry’s clit. Watching her struggle to keep her composure makes Zayn even more aroused, her own clit so hard that squeezing her thighs tight together feels almost as good as touching it would. 

“Don’t want me to finish you off first?” Zayn asks. 

She expects Harry to lie back down, maybe laugh at herself and agree, but she looks like she’s grappling with the choice, still staring down at Zayn. “I can wait,” she says. 

Almost incredulous, Zayn asks, “You’d rather get me off than have me get you off?” 

“Wanted to taste you for so long,” Harry insists. She sounds shameless, and her cheeks are too steady a red for Zayn to tell if she’s blushing. Jokingly, she adds, “Need to see if it’s as good as I’ve imagined.” 

“Don’t compare me to a bloody fantasy version of myself,” Zayn laughs, pushing herself onto her knees. “M’sure she’s better than me all around.” 

“Not so far,” Harry assures her, watching intently as Zayn cleans the wetness from her face with the back of her hand, licking it from her lips. 

“Charmer,” Zayn says, crawling back up beside Harry, who lowers herself onto the bed again, smirking. 

“Where do you want me?” 

Zayn considers her options, thinking of herself in Harry’s position, lounging on her back like Harry’s fantasized about. She gets caught up in the image of Harry now, though, with her clothes pushed aside, proof of how well she’s been listening. While she thinks, Zayn hooks her finger in the cup of Harry’s bra and pulls it down to expose her nipple fully, bending in to suck a soft kiss over it as Harry gasps. 

“Dunno,” Zayn says when she straightens back up, “think I like you like this. Could just come up and do all the work myself, use your mouth?” 

After a quiet, shuddering breath, Harry says, “Please.” 

“So polite, aren’t you,” Zayn murmurs, enjoying the way Harry makes it sound genuine, like she’s really asking and not simply playing along. She lifts herself up onto her knees and undoes the button and zip on her jeans, working them and her knickers down her hips, letting Harry watch. 

“Can I touch you?” Harry asks as Zayn sits back to peel her jeans all the way off, tossing them onto the floor. Her hands aren’t above her head anymore, but they’re stationed by her sides, waiting. 

“Yeah, babe,” Zayn agrees. 

Harry reaches out for her as soon as she says it, curling her long fingers around Zayn’s knee and rubbing up her thigh as she comes closer. They’re far enough up the bed that Zayn’s got the headboard to hold onto, bracing herself on it as she straddles Harry’s face, keeping away from her mouth still. No longer patient, Harry slides her hands all the way underneath Zayn’s top, up her sides and back to her hips, trying to pull her down even as she’s lifting her head. 

“Stop it,” Zayn says, gently fisting Harry’s hair to hold her back. “Stay still.” 

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry whines, becoming a bit frantic again, too much energy in her eyes when she looks up at Zayn’s face. 

“Stick your tongue out,” Zayn says. 

Thanks to the loose fabric of her top blocking Harry’s face whenever she leans forward, Zayn misses the moment Harry listens, her tongue pushed out probably as far as it’ll go. Hurriedly, Zayn pulls her top off over her head, left in just her bra; she sees Harry’s eyes move along her chest and torso, maybe lingering on the tattoos she hasn’t seen before in person, but she doesn’t say anything. 

“Good girl,” Zayn says again, watching her closely as Harry lets out a quiet whimper. “You like that?” 

Harry nods, briefly pulling her tongue back in so she can lick her lips before holding it out flat like before. 

“Keep it out, then, show me you’ll be good,” Zayn says, briefly tapping her fingertip against Harry’s tongue as she nods again. 

Finding her balance, Zayn slowly starts to lower herself toward Harry’s mouth, one hand gripping the headboard while the other sinks into Harry’s hair. She pauses just out of reach of Harry’s mouth, waiting until her eyes droop closed in anticipation before dropping down the rest of the way, tentatively rocking against the length of Harry’s tongue. They both moan at the same time, and Zayn feels herself twisting her fingers around locks of Harry’s hair already, wanting an anchor. 

Arguably, Zayn thinks, the best part is the gentle writhing of Harry’s tongue against her cunt, knowing that she’s trying to be still. Zayn doesn’t tell her any different, instead bracing herself fully so that she can slowly rub her clit against the wet pressure of Harry’s tongue. After each rotation of her hips, Zayn finds herself gasping while Harry lets out half-formed whines through her nose, breathing quickly. With one rough, reluctant squeeze to Zayn’s thighs, Harry pulls her hands away all at once, tucking them both underneath Zayn’s legs. 

“Suck me,” Zayn says quietly, still learning to keep her voice steady when she’s the one being touched; she sounds less sure of herself now, caught up in the pleasure of it. Harry surely doesn’t notice, fitting her mouth firmly around Zayn’s clit and sucking hard enough to make Zayn’s thighs shake, coming together around Harry’s head. 

Zayn curses, holding fast onto Harry’s hair and the headboard. She keeps her hips still now while Harry works her over, tongue rubbing quick against her clit while she sucks. It’s intense, frenetic, not what Zayn was expecting but something she can’t pull herself out of, wanting to make it last but unwilling to tell Harry to slow down. Soon Harry’s sounds become louder, more obvious, and Zayn feels a sudden jostling against her legs. When she manages to look behind herself, she finds Harry’s legs spread wide, one hand holding her skirt out of the way while the other is rubbing hard at her clit. 

“Jesus, Harry,” Zayn gasps, looking back down to her face to find Harry blinking up at her, eyes unfocused. “You gonna come like this? Getting me off?” 

Harry nods without speaking, humming an _mhm_ instead. She cautiously licks a bit lower, like she wants a better taste; Zayn rocks forward to encourage her, groaning when Harry’s nose bumps against her clit. Harry licks straight into her cunt, trying to work her tongue inside, and Zayn finds herself leaning forward enough that her forehead touches the wall. 

“So fucking good,” Zayn tells her, and then, remembering, “good girl, Haz, keep going.” 

With Harry’s tongue gone rigid, trying to fuck into her, Zayn lets herself move against it again; she rolls her hips at the pace that Harry sets, a fast one that makes her feel desperate. She wants to turn around and watch Harry touch herself, addicted to the way she looks with her legs splayed open and hand buried between them, but she can hardly focus on keeping herself upright. The solid wall in front of Zayn is the only thing that’s helping her from toppling over, especially when she starts heading quickly toward her orgasm. 

As soon as she feels it building, Zayn moves so Harry’s tongue slips out and brushes her clit instead, whimpering as she speaks, “No, no, suck me now, m’gonna come.” Harry agrees with a moan, sucking just as hard as she had before in fast pulses that make Zayn tremble, nearly more than she can handle. Her heartbeat trips over itself as she starts to come and she briefly loses her head, settling down so heavily over Harry’s mouth that she knows it must be hard for her to breathe. Zayn’s helpless to it, though, clenching hard against the phantom sensation of Harry’s tongue inside her and jerking away when her clit becomes too sensitive to take it anymore. 

“Please, no, m’close,” Harry pleads, lifting her head up to lick an off-center stripe between Zayn’s legs, like she needs to taste her to come. 

“ _Fuck_ , just not my clit,” Zayn allows, shakily lowering herself back over Harry’s mouth, gasping when Harry licks straight back inside her. It feels _good_ , the kind of overstimulation that Zayn never seeks out after she comes, the smooth slide of a tongue in her cunt. 

Harry’s sounds come in a rhythmic pattern, like she’s breathing out the syllables, a string of _ah_ s muffled into Zayn’s body as she starts to come. Zayn feels her mouth go slack and looks behind herself again to see Harry’s hand still between her legs, pressed right up against herself now, no longer rubbing. The moment Zayn starts to move away Harry protests, though, her free hand coming up to pet at Zayn’s hip as she sets to licking again. 

“ _Harry_ ,” Zayn breathes, looking down to her face again, only her eyes visible with her mouth still against Zayn’s cunt. “Shit, you’re too much.” 

Harry pulls back only far enough to say, “Taste so good, though,” slowly licking over Zayn’s opening, conscious now of how she must be sensitive. “Still so wet.” 

“‘Cause you keep fuckin’ licking me,” Zayn says, feeling herself still clenching, like she’s getting aftershocks. Harry nearly purrs. “Gotta lie down, babe. Let me, like, recover, fuck.” 

“Have to let me do that again,” Harry insists, finally allowing Zayn to move away and flop down onto her back on the bed, muscles aching from the position. 

“You’re insatiable,” Zayn says, squeezing her legs together against the second wave of arousal from Harry’s mouth. Looking over her face, she adds, “You’re also a right mess.” 

“Your fault,” Harry says, touching her fingertips to her wet chin and examining them after. “Oughta wash up a bit, probably.” 

Zayn sighs. “So should I.” Her legs feel wobbly, like her knees might give out if she tries to stand, and her distaste at the idea of getting up must show from the way Harry laughs. 

“I’ll bring you back a flannel,” she promises. 

“Lovely girl,” Zayn smiles. She watches as Harry slowly stands up and halfheartedly straightens out her clothes on her way to the loo, brushing her skirt back in place but pulling her top off entirely. Zayn takes advantage of the empty bed for a moment, stretching luxuriously, enjoying the easy burn of her muscles. 

 

-

 

Zayn’s woken up by an urgent pressure in her bladder and Harry breathing damply against her chest. There’s only the faintest bit of light coming through the blinds, but Zayn has to stumble out of the room for the loo anyway, squinting against the brightness when she turns on the light. After a quick wee, wash of her face and stolen swig of Harry’s mouthwash, she makes her way back to the bedroom, still wearing just her bra, and climbs beside Harry again. 

“Hi,” Harry mumbles, smiling so sweetly that Zayn gives in and strokes a fingertip against her dimple. 

“Hey,” Zayn whispers back, burrowing herself underneath the blankets. “Think I made quite a mistake last night.” 

Harry stiffens immediately, both of her eyes blinking open at once and then closing hard again, fighting off sleep. “Shit, m’sorry.” 

“What?” Zayn asks. 

“You’ve only— you literally _just_ ended it with Perrie. I should’ve known better,” Harry says, rubbing one eye as she tries to wake up. 

“Uh,” Zayn says, “well, yeah, but like… the mistake was that I didn’t take a piss before I fell asleep.” 

“Oh,” Harry says, pausing in her rubbing. Zayn can see at least the top half of her is naked now, breasts only partially covered by the blanket. She tries to stay focused on the conversation. “So you’re not, like…” 

“No,” Zayn confirms. 

“ _God_ , alright. You worried me!” Harry says accusingly. “Thought I’d never get a chance for that second round.” 

“Is that literally all you think about?” Zayn asks, settling in close enough to share Harry’s pillow with her. 

“Mm… nope, think about kissing you a bit. Never got around to that,” Harry says. She tips forward into Zayn’s space until their noses touch, sounding sleepier again now that the panic has passed. 

“Never did, did we?” Zayn murmurs. She cradles Harry’s jaw in one hand and closes the distance, giving her one, lazy kiss. “There we are.” 

“S’better,” Harry smiles, eyes closed again. Zayn gives her another kiss, this time right between her eyes. 

“We’ll, like, debrief later. After a nap,” Zayn suggests. 

“And round two,” Harry adds, curling her arm around Zayn’s waist. 

“We’ll see,” Zayn allows. 

She watches as Harry’s face slowly evens out as she falls back asleep, resisting the urge to kiss her slack lips one more time, absurdly glad that she’s finally come home.


End file.
